The Losers
by GrittyRe-boot
Summary: AU: "'You're kind of weird you know that' She says playfully, not including just how much she loves that about him, how much she loves everything about him, how he's her best friend in the whole world and she wishes like hell that he were more, but she likes to think those few small words say it all." Abbie and Ichabod and the trials of high school.
1. Chapter 1

**Finally I get an idea for a sleepy Hollow AU fic, I thought the day would never come, I hope this idea hasn't been done before and if so, not quite like this. In any case, I hope you enjoy it immensely.**

**Disclaimer: Sleepy Hollow is not mine.**

Sleepy Hollow, 1985

She doesn't want to go, if she had a choice she'd lock herself in her room for the next two years and educate herself. Jennie is thrilled, probably because she's never really cared about fitting in as much as being feared, and being one of only three black families in the whole town, not to mention all of the shit that made the local papers, what put them in this position in the first place, that shouldn't be much of a problem, at least not for Jennie. Unlike Abbie with her small stature and doe eyes, Jennie looks like she's thoroughly capable of putting someone in the hospital with her bare hands. Part of her respects her sister's bravado, not everyone has the kind of confidence to march through the doors of a new high school ready to pummel anyone who looks at them the wrong way and go on about her business.

But just because she respects it doesn't mean she has any desire to emulate it, getting through the school year alive is about her only goal this year, well, that and getting good enough grades to attend college in the city. She was always the smarter of the two, maybe the smartest in town, or at least that's what she's gathered from her limited experience with the rest of the community, so the college thing shouldn't be much of a problem. Of course she could always enroll in the police academy right off the bat, join the force and work her way up to detective, but she knows that if Poirot really existed he wouldn't approve, they didn't make them much smarter than Hercule Poirot.

"Jesus Abbie let's go," Jennie says, leaning into the bathroom door. "We're going to be late."

"We are not," Abbie protests, looking back into the mirror. She hopes she's picked the right outfit, the right hair style, the right everything that says 'I belong here.' The steel gray cardigan with the diamond shaped buttons has always been a favorite, it was probably the only Chanel anything available at the Sleepy Hollow Goodwill, 26 bucks well spent, and you could barely see the ink stain on the sleeve. The message Jennie was clearly trying to send with her ripped jeans and white t-shirt (no-bra of course) was 'I don't give a fuck and fuck you if you do.'

"You look great," Jennie says, a bit sarcastically. "You can barely tell the difference between you and all the other preppy bitches, you know, aside from the tan that is."

"Would you give it a rest?" Abbie says, annoyed. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to fit in."

"You won't fit in Abbie," Jennie protests. "You may as well embrace it. Come on babe, before I leave without you."

Abbie rolls her eyes a little before looking in the mirror once more and letting out a long sigh.

"Alright Abbie," she says to herself. "It's now or never."

* * *

Sleepy Hollow High isn't much to write home about, but she supposes Sleepy Hollow as a rule isn't much to write home about. The building is pretty enough she supposes, with the red brick walls and vines creeping up the building like spiderwebs, but there's nothing particularly exciting about it, if anything it's a little depressing, like a reminder of a time left behind too long ago.

"Remember babe," Jennie says as they ascend the stairs. "We're in this together, whether I like it or not."

"Thanks," Abbie says warmly, giving her sister a small smile as they enter the building.

She's never seen so many people her own age in one room before, and of course they're all as white as the day is long. Although she knows for a fact that Frankie Irving from her church goes here too, she doesn't see the boy right away. Jennie's right, the chances of fitting in seem pretty slim already, especially judging by the way they're all looking at her right now. It's not just the race thing, she and Jennie were bound to attract attention no matter what, the bombing wasn't that long ago, and according to the looks on their faces now, that's exactly what they're all whispering about. She tries to ignore it, looking down at her scedule instead, homeroom starts in five minutes and the last thing she wants is to be the last person there.

"Well, I guess I'll see you at lunch," Abbie says, turning to her sister.

"Not my fault we have no classes together little miss AP everything," Jennie says, giving her sister a tight hug. "See you at lunch."

As she enters she's relieved to see another person has taken their seat in homeroom already. She's never seen him before, but she supposes that's to be expected, even in a town as small as this the only people she really knows are the ones she saw at church every Sunday. He's doodling something on a sheet of paper, his head down as he waits for the teacher, but as she takes a seat a few desks away from him, his head jerks up at the sound of her chair squeaking a little. She looks away swiftly, turning her attention to her backpack. Still four minutes left until homeroom, ample time to at least get a few more paragraphs of "Murder on the Orient Express" under her belt.

"Psst." she ignores it at first, continuing to read, mostly because she's not sure if she's heard anything at all at first. "Psst." he repeats and at that she turns her head, meeting the boys eyes, his peircing blue eyes that are immediately the first thing she notices.

"Hey there," she says with a small smirk, her voice soft.

"I apologize," he says, and the second thing she notices is his voice. She's never met a Brit before, the only Brits she's ever known live in the pages of her books. "But I couldn't help but notice that you are a fan of the Hercule Poirot novels"

"You like Agatha Christie?" Abbie says, surprised.

"Well she's certainly no Arthur Conan Doyle, but I suppose I do, yes."

"Ah, Sherlock Holmes fan," she says with a bit of a scoff. "Such a guy."

"If you are implying that my preference for the work of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is predicated upon his gender than I am offended," he says darkly.

"I'm just teasing, relax," She replies and he nods in understanding.

"That's quite a good read," He continues.

"I know, I've read it three times," she explains, and she can't help but smile a little at this slightly odd stranger as he smiles back at her, and she realizes now that his eyes aren't the only thing striking about her classmate, she's never seen anyone dresed like him before, not even in her magazines. She supposes the black and white striped shirt and fitted jeans are normal enough, but the long, navy blue coat with the big, neatly lined buttons and his heavy black boots with the jeans tucked in look like something out of one of those paintings from the revolutionary war museum in the busier part of town.

"I'm Crane, ahem, Ichabod Crane," He says stammering a bit.

"Don't you mean Bond, James Bond?" she teases.

"Pardon?" he asks confusedly.

"Never mind," she says shaking her head a little. "Abbie Mills," She offers.

"May I call you Abigail?" He asks. "It's a lovely name."

"Sure, only if I can call you Crane."

"Everyone does, when they aren't calling me Faggot or bitch boy," He says, a hint of bitterness reaching his voice.

"Looky here, looks like bitch boy finally found a girlfriend," She raises her head at the sound of the voice, only now realizing that other people have joined them in the classroom. "Is she a freak like you?

"Do put a sock in it Moloch I am trying to have a conversation," Crane says confidently.

"Why? What does a fag like you need to have a conversation with a girl for anyway? What are you trading hair tips?" The boy, Moloch or whatever spits.

"What's your problem?" Abbie says, looking him up and down with spite.

"Bitch boy's my problem," Moloch responds.

"Why? What did he ever do to you?" Abbie responds, the first guy she meets and he's actually nice to her, not to mention kind of gorgeous, she can't just let some brute picking on him pass, even if he is a little weird, even if it does immediately break her rule about trying to fit in.

"He exists, that's bad enough," Moloch responds. "And if I were you I'd stay the fuck out of it before _you_ become my problem, and don't think I don't know about your fucking freak mom-

"Okay children, p-pipe down, t-take your seats." Before Abbie can respond the teacher enters the room. He's a larger man, and old, at least sixty, with graying hair and thick glasses and a stammer that she'd know was there even if he never said a word. "My name is M-Mr. Parrish," he continues, writing his name on the board.

"Mm-my n-name -s M-mr. P-parrish," Moloch imitates under his breath, making the other kids snicker alongside him.

"D-don't think I c-can't hear you Mr. Moloch," Mr. Parrish says, not even taking a glance at the boy making fun of him, and at that the boy sinks a little in his seat.

"Is he always like that?" Abbie whispers over to her new friend, she supposes it's a little soon to refer to him as a friend, but he's certainly the closest thing she has so far.

"That's Bobby Moloch," Ichabod whispers over to her. "And yes."

Let's hope he's the only one, Abbie thinks to herself, but somehow she gets a sinking feeling he isn't.

* * *

"What is your next class?" Ichabod says as they exit Mr. Parrish's homeroom together. Upon standing she realizes this boy is tall, at least six feet, and skinny, but not in a bad way, in any case he's certainly handsome, if too weird to get a pass. Maybe it was the British thing, she wouldn't know.

"Um, AP History with Mr Washington."

"Small world, me too-

"Later faggot!" Moloch says, pushing Ichabod forcefully out of the way as he exits the class, knocking his book out of his hand before he can place it back into his backpack. And not quite knowing what's come over her she starts after him.

"Let it go Abigail," Ichabod says, grabbing her arm gently before she can get too far. "He's not worth the trouble."

"That guy's a jerk," Abbie says, bending to grab his book for him.

"Thank you, and yes, he is," Ichabod agrees. "Plenty more where that came fr...

as he trails off, Abbie looks in the direction that Ichabod is dreamily looking in all of a sudden. She's not hard to spot, the tall, pretty cheerleader with the long red hair pulled up into a bouncy ponytail.

"Someone special?" Abbie deduces, a slight smirk on her face.

"That's Katrina Von Tassel," Ichabod explains, his voice as faraway and dreamlike as his gaze. "I burn for her."

"Does she know?" Abbie asks.

"Of course she does, everyone worships Katrina, she'd have to be blind not to know, 'does she care?' is a whole other story."

"Well, you should ask her out," Abbie says. "The worst thing she could say is no."

"Which would be the worst thing period, I'm happy to suffer in silence if it means my heart remains in tact. Besides, she's dating Abe Van Brunt."

"Let me guess, captain of the football team?" Abbie asks.

"How did you know?"

"_Sweet Valley High_ books mostly," she says, shrugging.

"You read that rubbish?" Ichabod says amusedly.

"_Read_, past tense," she explains. "And when you're a thirteen year old girl it's not exactly rubbish."

"I suppose... but still."

Before she can contribute anymore to the conversation she notices someone else in the hallway among the other students, she supposes she wouldn't have noticed at all if it weren't for the way he's staring at her almost angrily.

"You've got some nerve," the boy says, fire in his eyes. "Wearing that here," he says, grabbing the sleeve of her sweater.

"Let go of me!" Abbie says, pulling her arm away.

"Take it off, now," He says, getting right in her face.

"What is your quarrel with this lovely creature?" The strange, lanky boy says, getting between him and Abbie. "or her sweater for that matter, it's a fine garment."

"Fuck off retard," Is the bully's carefully thought out response as he pushes him hard out of the way. "I said give it back."

"Give what back? What are you even talking about?" Abbie says.

"That's my lady's sweater, I know you stole it," He says. "No way your kind can afford something this nice."

"I implore you to take that back Abraham," Ichabod says angrily.

"Yeah, I didn't steal anything, I bought it with my own hard earned money, now you better back of," Abbie says.

"Why? What are you going to do, nigger?" Abraham says spitefully.

At the word her blood instantly boils, she can tolerate a lot, but not that, _never_ that, and before she knows what's happened, he's on the floor, and her knuckles are throbbing with the force of the blow to the boy's face, she guesses Jennie was bound to rub off on her one way or another. And immediately her sense of triumph is replaced by fear as he scrambles up, bloody murder in his gaze.

"You are not to lay a hand on her," Ichabod says forcefully, once again protectively stepping in front of Abbie.

"Get out of the way," Abe Roars. "This is between me and the freak."

"And judging by the state of your visage it is already a fight as unevenly matched as that between a foot and an insect, I would be positively delighted to see your attempt at taking on the both of us," He continues, raising his fists confidently.

"This isn't one of your fruity Revolutionary war reenactments buddy, I'll mess you up," Abe shoots back.

"Abe, what's going on here?" It's Katrina, the cheerleader that Ichabod 'burns for'

"This bitch stole from you and she won't admit it."

"What? That sweater?" Katrina says incredulously, "Abe I donated that to Goodwill four months ago, I got an ink stain on it. God Abe leave the girl alone."

"And perhaps you'd like to tell Katrina about the derogatory language you used against Abigail just now," Ichabod says, clearly still pissed.

"Abe, did you say something _racist_ against this girl?" Katrina says, nervously saying the word 'racist' under her breath as if it too is a bad word.

"I didn't even mean it babe, you know I'm no racist," Abe says pathetically. "I just said it because I knew it would piss her off."

"God Abe you're such a jerk!" Katrina says, pushing him hard before stomping off.

"Good going retard you got me in trouble," Abe says frantically. "This isn't over," he continues before going after Katrina. "Babe, wait up!"

"Hmm," Abbie says, nudging her new friend with her elbow. "You might have a shot after all."

"If Abe doesn't kill me first," Ichabod says.

"I don't know," Abbie reassures him. "I have a feeling you're tougher than you look," she continues. "Thank you for standing up for me."

"It was my pleasure Abigail," He says, extending him arm for Abbie to take. "Shall we proceed to AP history with Mr. Washington?"

With that she smiles a little and links her arm with his, thinking perhaps today wouldn't be so bad after all.

**Don't worry your pretty heads off about the Katrina stuff, this is very much an Ichabbie story, and just so you know, Ichabod is the only one here with an English accent, even the ones who are English on the show are American here, which I suppose they would be since America was still considered British territory in the time that Ichabod comes from. Also in case you were wondering, Ichabod is not from the past here, he speaks the way he does because he's supposed to be an outcast, partially why I set this in the 80's instead of today, because even with the odd manner of speaking there's no way a British guy who looked like teenaged Tom Mison couldn't get a girlfriend these days. Stay tuned folks!**


	2. Chapter 2

It isn't until lunch time rolls around that Abbie finally begins to consider the possible consequences of her actions earlier. In the moment, punching that neanderthal in the face felt like the right thing to do, it felt good actually, except of course for the still stinging knuckles that lead her to believe that Abe van Brunts face is made of stone, either that or she caught a tooth. But now, with the way everyone is staring at her, she's beginning to think she may have been more than a little flippant.

"Well well well," if it isn't Muhammed Ali in the flesh," Jennie says excitedly as she takes a seat across from her sister. "So much for fitting in amirite?"

"Jennie, please don't make things worse," Abbie groans. "I think I'm in enough trouble as it is."

"Relax Cassius," She says, swiping the air nonchalantly. "Nobody cares what these J. Crew catalog rejects think."

"Maybe not, but there are hundreds of them and one of me," Abbie argues.

"Well, let's just call it three of us."

"Three?" Abbie asks confusedly.

"Hey, Frakie!" Jennie then calls across the table, and that's when she sees him, little Frankie Irving from Bethany Baptist, sitting at the football players table of all places.

She can see him groan a little as he gets up from his seat and drags his feet over to Abbie and Jennie's table.

"So, how's the first day treating you?" Frankie says unenthusiastically.

"Abbie punched the Quarterback in the face," Jennie says.

"Jennie!" Abbie seethes.

"Relax, I know about Abe," Frankie says. "Thanks for that by the way."

"I thought you guys were friends, aren't you on the team?" Jennie says.

"He tolerates me because I have legs like a jackrabbit, not because he's some kind of enlightened." Frankie explains.

"I hope not all of them are like that," Abbie says, pushing her peas around on her plate.

"Abe and Bobby mostly," Frankie says shrugging. "The rest of them are decent enough I guess but it's not like they try all that hard to stop it."

"I wonder what Katrina sees in that guy," Abbie says.

"Looks like someone's getting aquainted with the upper crust around here," Frankie says.

"No, not really, it's just, my friend, he has this crazy crush on her."

"Friend? You made a friend? Like an actual friend?" Jennie says, clearly proud.

"Yeah, his name's Ichabod," Abbie says with a small smile.

"Wait, hold on," Frankie says incredulously. "Ichabod Crane? The revolutionary war nut who thinks he's William Shakespeare, _that_ Ichabod Crane?"

"Unless there's somehow more than one Ichabod Crane," Abbie says.

"Oh hell, I remember that name, he's in my shop class," Jennie says. "Damn Abbie you sure know how to pick em."

"What? he's cool" Abbie says, shrugging. "I like his accent."

"Ooh, someone has a crush on Mr. British," Jennie says teasingly.

"I do not," Abbie protests. "But he's the only person here who's been nice to me so far, doesn't that count for something?"

"Sure," Jennie says. "And he's good at shop, his birdhouse had stained glass windows."

Before she can ask whether that's a joke or not, and she's assuming it isn't, she feels someone else take a seat next to her, and automatically thinks to herself that she might end up being more popular than she originally thought.

"Hi, Annie right?" The flaming haired cheerleader from earlier says with a beaming smile.

"Abbie," she corrects.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Katrina says bashfully. "I'm terrible with names."

"What can we do you for pom poms?" Jennie says drily.

"Oh I just wanted to apologize for Abe again, he's not a _racist_, I promise," she says, once again whispering the 'r' word."

"Really, do non-racists usually throw the 'N' word around like candy?" Abbie says.

"Wait, he called you what?" Jennie says angrily, starting up "Where is he? I'm thinking he might need a black eye to go with the busted lip."

"Let it go Jennie," Abbie says, grabbing her sister's wrist. "It's over."

"Look, he used a terrible word, there's no excuse," Katrina continues. "But he doesn't hate black people, right Frankie?"

"My ass," Frankie says under his breath.

"In any case, I really am very sorry," Katrina says sincerely.

"You don't have to apologize for him," Abbie says with a weak smile.

"Hey, would you like to sit with us? There's plenty of room at our table," Katrina says, clearly still guilty for her boyfriend's actions.

"Who are you princess Di?" Jennie says with a chuckle.

"Come on, it'll be great, what do you say?" Katrina continues, ignoring Jennie.

She's not really sure what to say to that, sure, being invited to sit with cheerleaders on the first day is something of an honor if _Sweet Valley High_ is to be believed, still, her real friends are right at this table. But as she sees a familiar face with familiar blue eyes in a familiar navy blue coat entering the lunch room, waving at her immediately, she gets an idea.

"I'd love to," Abbie says with a warm smile, causing both Jennie and Frankie to shoot her a look. "If my friends can sit with us too, she says."

"Um, sure," Katrina says a bit hesitantly. "I guess that would be alright."

"Good," Abbie says. "Hey, Ichabod, over here!" she calls out to him, and at that Katrina's eyes immediately go wide, and Frankie and Jennie can't help but chuckle.

"I really don't think there's going to be room for him Abbie," Katrina whispers frantically as Ichabod makes his way to their table.

"You said it yourself, there's plenty of room," And suddenly Jennie's look of disbelief turns into one of pride.

"She's right, you did say that," Jennie agrees.

"Um, okay, sure," Katrina says, clearly still not 100 percent.

"Hello again Abigail," Ichabod says warmly. "And hello... Katrina" He continues, more than a bit nervously. "You are looking rather lovely this afternoon."

"Oh, thank you," she says, as congenially as she can manage.

"Katrina has graciously invited us to sit with-

"Actually, it looks like the girls are getting up," Katrina says, interrupting Abbie. "I forgot we were going to practice some drills in the field today, but rain check, definitely." And at that she turns and marches away as quickly as possible.

"Well, thank you for trying Abigail," Ichabod says sweetly once Katrina is out of earshot, as he takes a seat. "But if I were you I would have left me out of the deal."

"Why?" Abbie says, taking a seat across from him. "What's her problem with you?"

"Girls like Katrina don't associate with guys like me, it's just the way it is."

"Well it's not the way it should be," Abbie says. "You're nice, you're smart, you're cute-

"Wait, you think me cute?" He says a bit excitedly, a bit teasingly and she bites back a grin as Frankie and Jennie exchange looks.

"Well, sure, in a gawky, Anthony Michael Hall sort of way I guess." She says, backtracking, once again looking down at her peas.

"I must say Abigail I am flattered," He says. "And you my dear are quite a vision yourself."

"Really?" she says, looking again at him.

"Well of course," He says, as if the question is ridiculous. "Your eyes are extraordinary, and your smile, my god, there needs to be sonnets written about that smile."

At his words she can't help but feel his gaze, his smile, all the way down to the tips of her toes.

"Should I leave you two alone?" Frankie teases.

"I am certain before the week is out some lucky chap will have swept you off your feet," Ichabod continues, making her smile fade a little. "As I shall only wish to do for the fair Katrina."

"Jesus Ichy you sure know how to ruin a moment," Jennie says.

"Why, did I say something wrong?" Ichabod says, confused.

"No, she's just being a pain, like always," Abbie says, although she can't help but think her sister might have a point.

"So, I don't believe I recall your name," He says to Jennie.

"Jennie Mills, I'm Abbie's sister."

"Lovely to meet you" He says, extending his hand for her to shake. "So, what brings the two of you to Sleepy Hollow?"

"Um, birth, basically," Abbie explains.

"Really? I've been here for three years, why am I just now meeting the two of you?" Ichabod asks.

"Homeschooled," Jennie explains, "That is until our mom had a nervous breakdown last year and bombed the occult museum, at that point it was crazy house for her, foster home for us."

"Thank you Jennie, I was starting to think not enough people knew about that," Abbie says sarcastically.

"Actually..." Ichabod starts.

"Wait, you _do_ know about that?" Abbie says nervously.

"Not all the details of course, but I do like to stay updated on the goings on in town," Ichabod explains. "Besides, I rather liked that museum."

"Yeah," Jennie says bitterly. "Me too, when I managed to sneak out of the house that is."

"So," Abbie says, wanting desperately to change the subject. "What about you, why did you leave England?"

"My father took a job here," Ichabod explains. "Well, not here, per se, NYU."

"Your dad works all the way in the city?" Abbie asks, surprised. "Why don't you live there?"

"Well, let's just say my father didn't think I would adjust too well to the city, you know because of certain...

"Freako tendencies," Jennie says snarkily, making Abbie kick her under the table.

"Oww!" Jennie exclaims.

"I was going to say eccentricities but I suppose you are right."

"So, why do you talk the way you do anyway?" Abbie says. "Not that there's anything wrong with it."

"Let's just say I had a bit of a weird childhood," Ichabod explains.

"Weird how?" Frankie asks. "You're not Amish are you?" And it's just now that she realizes although Frankie and Ichabod have attended the same school for the past two years, this is the first time they've exchanged so much as a word.

"Not quite, no," Ichabod explains. "I grew up in a historical commune."

"You mean like a cult?" Jennie says with a chuckle.

"A community for revolutionary war enthusiasts," He explains. "It _was_ a rather fascinating time in history."

"Wow," Abbie says. "That's some pretty heavy stuff."

"I suppose," Ichabod says with a shrug. "But to me it was simply home."

"It must be hard, you know, adjusting to all of this," Abbie says.

"It was, at first, but after a certain point it does become easier, I like to think I've managed rather well."

"Have you seen that coat?" Jennie jokes, once again causing Abbie to shoot her a look.

"I suppose I could acquire new outerwear, but I never saw the point in it," Ichabod says with a shrug. "As long as it keeps me suitably insulated I see no reason to exchange it for an LL Bean windbreaker."

"You see, I respect that," Jennie says. "Why should you dress like all the other sheep?"

"Exactly," Ichabod agrees. "Like you for instance, attending school without a brassiere, you're quite the bold one."

At that Abbie and Frankie can't halp but snicker under their breath, while Jennie simply shakes her head and smiles in amusement.

* * *

He likes to cut through the forest on his daily walks home, all the better to avoid bullies, but also to be alone with his thoughts, his thoughts that are almost always about Katrina, the beautiful, compassionate soul who nonetheless wouldn't be caught dead eating lunch with the likes of him. It's not as if he blames her, nobody talks to Ichabod Crane, nobody even acknowledges Ichabod Crane unless it's to call him some cruel name or push him against a locker. The only way Katrina can get away with showing him even a hint of kindness is to avoid him altogether, but still, he'll never forget the first day they met, before he had learned the true danger of showing up for school in a three pointed hat (The danger his father fruitlessly tried to warn him about), when everyone else looked at him with thinly veiled contempt, she smiled at him and gave him the quickest of waves before disappearing into her classroom.

That of course was freshman year, before she had even the slightest inkling of how attractive she was, how immediately everyone would want to be her friend, and in some cases, boyfriend. Once she realized that her destined to be charmed life would immediately go up in flames if she continued to give him the time of day the smiles and little waves and quick nods stopped, but his passion for her remained. So once again he thinks of Katrina as he makes his way home, but somehow another girl enters his mind too, because how could he not think of Abigail Mills just a little? She's gorgeous of course, even if she clearly doesn't know it, even if no one else will ever acknowledge it, and she's clearly smart as a whip too, but it's more than that, and more than the fact that she talked to him, and continued to talk to him even after watching him be bullied, even after being offered a seat at the cheerleaders table. No, it wasn't just the superficial things, there was something special about this girl, something... brave.

Jennie Mills is fearless, you can see it without her uttering a single word, but Abbie, she's brave, he learned the difference from his father. Bravery can't exist without fear, and she's clearly afraid of so much, of being rejected, perhaps of turning out like her mother, but she fights it, whether she wants to or not, and he can't help but wonder how long she'll continue to fight it, whether she knows exactly how cruel these children can be, how cruel they'll certainly be to her. He wonders if they can help each other, if he can manage to keep her around in spite of everything. Friends were never a necessity for him, never worth abandoning everything that makes him who he is, but it certainly doesn't mean that he doesn't long for them in some way, and when she smiled at him, that brilliant, beautiful smile, he knew right then and there that he longed for her, perhaps before he ever even met her.

"Hey, hey Bitch boy!" At the sound of Bobby Moloch's voice he has no desire to turn around, no desire to give him the time of day, but when he feels the larger boy's hands make forceful contact with his back, he finds himself turning around anyway. Moloch would be a scary guy even without the sociopathic personality, with his black eyes and towering height and always present veins popping out on either side of his forehead, almost like horns.

"Not today Moloch, my lunch money has been spent," Ichabod says, rolling his eyes, and although he's more than a little terrified to see that Moloch is not alone, that Abe is dutifully by his side, he stands his ground. Abe is a little more unassuming looking, blonde and shorter, with a voice that would almost be soft if it weren't for its hateful edge, but together they could easily put Ichabod in a stretcher.

"What's this I hear about your little fag hag sucker punching my boy?" Moloch says again, pushing him harder.

"It was his own fault, there was no need to direct that sort of language at an innocent girl," Ichabod argues.

"What the hell is it to you?" Abe adds. "What did you decide to take a break from jacking off to my girlfriend for once."

"I would do no such thing, Katrina deserves better than being the object of such perversion, and she certainly deserves better than the likes of you."

He knows he's dead, but he would have been either way, if he's going to get a thorough beat down he'll do it with pride. And as Abe's fist solidly hits Ichabod's face the last thing he pictures is two big brown eyes and a voice sweeter than honey talking to him about Agatha Christie.

**Stay Tuned Folks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**This is the second time I've used Modern Love in a fic, but I can't help it, it's my favorite.**

He's been in this position before, he supposes both literally and figuratively. His face hurts, he can taste blood, and his vision is blurry, he thinks he might also be hallucinating, because a beautiful girl is looking down at him right now, her face fraught with concern.

"Crane? Crane! Oh my god are you alright?" She says, shaking him gently.

"Are you... are you an angel?" He says, clearly a bit delirious.

"Who did this to you?" She asks seriously, trying to get him to focus.

He doesn't speak right away as he tries to recall the last few minutes, blinking over and over until Abbie's face finally comes into focus.

"Was it that Moloch kid?" She continues as he sits up with a bit of struggle.

"The one and only," Ichabod says bitterly, his head a little clearer. "Along with his evil minion of course."

"Abe?" Abbie says, a bit of fear in her voice, and Ichabod simply nods.

"Oh no," Abbie says, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "This is all my fault, I'm the one who had to go all Rocky Balboa on the kid."

"Do not apologize for standing up for yourself Abigail," he prostests. "You did nothing wrong, the only ones at fault here are the psychotic goons who did this to me."

"Oh my god," She says grabbing his chin gently, making him look at her. "Look at your face, those guys could have killed you Crane."

"I'd love to see them try," Ichabod replies. "I assure you I'll pull through. At least they didn't hang me from the tree by my underpants this time." In spite of his reassurance her wide eyes are still clouded with worry for the young man she just met.

"What are you doing here?" He asks then, breaking the silence.

"Oh," Abbie says sheepishly, smirking a bit. "I live here, well, more or less..." she continues. "It's a cabin near the spring," she finally explains, to which he nods in understanding.

"Where is your sister?"

"She went for a burger with Frankie," She explains, grunting a little as she helps Ichabod to his feet. "She thinks she's too cool to let it show but that girl has a crush that can be seen from space."

"Yes, quite obvious I'd agree," He says. "Well thank you for your assistance, but I suppose you ought to be heading home yourself."

"At least let me help get you home, those guys really worked you over," She insists.

"No," he says, almost nervously. "I can't let my dad see me this way again, he has enough on his plate without constantly having to worry about me getting the stuffing beaten out of me regularly."

"Well he's got to see you some time," Abbie protests.

"I know, I just need a little time to go over in my head how to explain this," he says, waving a hand over his bruised face.

"If this has happened before he's not going to believe any excuse you give him," Abbie reasons.

"Perhaps not," he replies, "But denial can be a powerful thing Abigail."

"Hmm, I guess," She says, unconvinced. "But you know, maybe if you told him the truth he could do something."

"You really don't know anything about high school do you?" Ichabod says. "The last time my father talked to the principal about Moloch and his crew they got a week's detention and promptly took their anger at the situation out on my face, being a tattle tell on top of everything accomplishes nothing."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Fight back, it's the only thing I can do, sometimes I'll win, sometimes I'll lose, but either way I walk away with my dignity in tact."

"Well, you can't just pace back and forth through the woods thinking of a good enough lie for your dad," Abbie protests. "Why don't you come to my house? Just so you can have an hour or so to collect yourself."

"Your foster parents wouldn't mind?" he asks, his eyes wide with something resembling hope.

"My foster _parent _likes to stay locked away in his little conspiracy shed until six most nights, he only really comes out to fix us dinner and ask us about our day."

"He sounds like a character."

"Let's just say 'nam messed him up pretty bad, then after his wife died... well, he hasn't really been the same since, but he's a really nice guy in spite of everything."

"Anyone with a conspiracy shed sounds like a real joyful fellow," Ichabod jokes.

"Trust me, it'll be fine," Abbie says, taking his arm, and with that he smiles a little and follows her lead.

He isn't used to this, being invited to a girls house, even if it is just because she took pity on him, but whatever the reason he has to ask.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I don't know," She answers truthfully. "Because you were nice to me I guess."

"So you owe me basically," he says, failing to hide the slight bitterness in his tone.

"No, that's not it, it's just, you deserve it," Abbie says wirth a shrug. "You're a good guy Crane, you're not the kind of guy who should be getting beaten up in the woods after school."

"And you're not the kind of girl who should be accused of theft and called vile names," Ichabod responds as they make their way through the woods.

"Maybe you and I can help each other, I mean, maybe we can, you know, be friends," Abbie says a bit nervously.

"You would be friends with me? Ichabod the weird?"

"What would I know from weird?" She responds, shrugging. "Everything I know about high school comes from books I had to read under the covers at night and movies I would sneak into with my sister when we were supposed to be at sunday school."

"What about fitting in? Isn't that what you want? Isn't that what everyone wants?"

"If fitting in means associating with people like Abe and Moloch, then maybe it isn't so great. Besides, maybe Jennie had a point, maybe I was doomed from the start anyway."

"Perhaps you were," he agrees. "Still, you could have sat at the cheerleaders table."

"Come on Crane, Katrina didnt really want me there, she just felt bad about what her boyfriend said."

"She is a kind soul that one," Ichabod says, as if he didn't quite get Abbie's point. "If perhaps a bit too focused on the opinions of others."

"You really got it bad don't you?" she says teasingly.

"Let's just say I understand, the need to hide who you truly are to be accepted."

"And who is Katrina, really?"

"The kind of girl who saves all of her lunches for the homeless man who always sits out in front of the library," Ichabod says dreamily. "The kind of girl who gets up early every saturday to volunteer at the animal shelter, the kind of girl who reads Dickens under the tree in the courtyard when she thinks no one is watching."

"Huh, I think I just got an idea of what kind of guy _you_ are," she says with a smirk. "stalker."

"Oh give me a break you sound just like my psychiatrist," He replies quickly.

"I really hope that was a joke."

"Of course it was," Ichabod assures her. "You sound nothing like my psychiatrist."

At that she shoves him a little, laughing as they continue through the woods.

* * *

"Corbin? Corbin I'm home," Abbie says, entering the small cabin, Ichabod in tow. "Huh, I guess it's still conspiracy shed time."

"This place is amazing," Crane says quietly, admiring the old fashioned appeal of their rustic surroundings as they make their way to the kitchen. "Reminds me of home."

"The commune?" Abbie says, taking a bag of frozen peas out of the refrigerator as she nods toward the chair. "What was that like?"

"Much quieter than here," he explains obeying her gesture and taking a seat. "No television no radio, just books, and campfire stories and living off the land. An ideal venue for my father's years of exhaustive research"

"Sounds pretty boring," Abbie says a little under her breath as she presses the frozen peas over his shiner, making him wince a little at the contact.

"Yes, a life without the utterly brilliant musical stylings of Wham! must be absolutely unfathomable to you," he says sarcastically.

"Don't you dare try to badmouth Wham!" she scolds, making Ichabod chuckle. "And what about Michael jackson? Prince? David Bowie?"

"Who?" he asks, knitting his brow.

"You've never heard of David Bowie? Are you kidding me Crane?" Abbie asks incredulously. "I thought you were British... and human."

"I live a very sheltered life Abigail," He says defensively.

"Yet You've heard of Wham!?"

"The only modern music I'm subjected to is what I overhear on boomboxes in random public areas, the rest I'm happy to remain blissfully unaware of."

"Well I refuse to know someone who's blissfully unaware of David Bowie, here, hold this here" She says, putting the bag of peas in his hand, and at that she marches toward her room, leaving Ichabod without so much as a word.

"Are you coming or what?" She yells for him, and with that he follows.

"Okay, this is the greatest song ever made," Abbie says placing a record in her player.

"And I suppose you've heard every song ever made?"

"Shut up and listen," she says, placing the needle down, and as she begins to bob her head to the upbeat rythm, a small smile involuntarily reaches his lips, and it widens still as a deep voice emanates from the record and she mouths along, shaking her hips to the beat.

_I catch a paper boy_  
_ But things don't really change_  
_ I'm standing in the wind_  
_ But I never wave bye-bye_

_ But I try_  
_ I try_

_ There's no sign of life_  
_ It's just the power to charm_  
_ I'm lying in the rain_  
_ But I never wave bye-bye_

_ But I try_  
_ I try_

"Alright, I must admit I rather like this," Ichabod says. "It sounds... happy."

"Good right?" She replies, taking his free hand and swinging it back and forth a little as she dances.

_Never gonna fall for_  
_ Modern Love  
walks beside me_  
_ Modern Love _  
_walks on by_  
_ Modern Love _  
_gets me to the Church on Time_  
_ Church on Time _  
_terrifies me _  
_ Church on Time _  
_makes me party_  
_ Church on Time _  
_puts my trust in God and Man_

"Alright you win this round Abigail," Ichabod says, narrowing his uncovered eye jokingly, making Abbie giggle a bit as she dances and he tries his best to keep up, but she doesn't seem to mind his stiff disposition, it's as if she knows it's simply his nature.

"Abbie?" At the sound of the voice in the room Abbie and Ichabod's eyes immediately go to the doorframe, where a giant man with silver hair now stands, a giant, immediately terrifying man.

"Corbin," Abbie says, frantically letting go of Ichabod's hand and going for the record player. "I thought you were in the shed," she continues as she removes the needle from the record, leaving the room in silence.

"I was," Corbin says seriously. "Who's this?"

"Ahem, I-Ichabod," Ichabod stammers. "Ichabod crane."

"He's my friend, from school," Abbie offers.

"What's wrong with his face?" Corbin says, his own face a stone. And Ichabod can't help but think that he's going to continue to talk about him as if he isn't here, he almost wishes he weren't.

"Bullies," Abbie explains, and at her words he says nothing, the silence is deafening.

"Bullies huh?" Corbin says gruffly.

"Yes sir," Ichabod says, his voice still shaky.

"Well, kids can be crueler than hell, I know that much," Corbin says, his tone, his expression still impossible to read. "Where's your sister?"

"Hardee's, with Frankie, you know Frankie, from Bethany Baptist?"

"Yeah, nice kid," Corbin says simply, and Ichabod still has no way of knowing whether he's in trouble or not, but his palms continue to sweat as Corbin's deep eyes continue to glare daggers into him.

"She'll be back before dark, she promised," Abbie continues.

"Hmm," Corbin murmers. "Alright, what about this one?" he continues, nodding toward Ichabod.

"He was just about to call his dad, right Ichabod?"

"Uh, yeah," Ichabod agrees, going along with it. "Yeah he's expecting, um, my call."

"Hmm," Corbin murmurs again.

_Maybe if I take a running start I can crash through the window with little additional injury_, Ichabod thinks quietly to himself, _certainly I'm back in running shape by now. even if I'm not, I'll risk it._

"Okay," Corbin says what feels like an eternity later. "You can use the one in the kitchen, and if you're sticking around I got an apple pie from the diner up the street, best in town," he continues before starting away.

"That's my foster dad," Abbie clarifies needlessly once he's out of earshot. "Told you it would be fine."

"Yeah," Ichabod says, letting out a too obvious sigh of relief. "He seems... nice."

She can tell that he's still a little rattled, because she can't help but shake her head and chuckle a little at him before taking him by the wrist and starting out of the room.

** There is one of two possible directions I plan to go in with Katrina's character, and it all depends on what happens next week, because yes, even when I write AU I like my stories to at least vaguely mirror their source material, in any case he won't be hung up on her for long. Remember, reviews are how I make my money, lol, jk, but they're still greatly appreciated. Stay tuned folks!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for 1. The short chapter 2. The long update and 3. So little Ichabbie interaction. I'll try to make it up to you with the next chapter.**

Ichabod's father is not a stupid man, nobody knows that better than Ichabod, so the fact that he seemed to buy the excuse that he fell down a hill on his trek through the woods spoke volumes. Ichabod assumes it had something to do with the fact that Abbie was freely willing to lie for him when the elder crane came to collect Ichabod. Unwilling to lie on behalf of a child, Corbin took the omission route, it's not as if he didn't know what it was like to be a young boy.

He reflects in silence on the events of the day as his father drives him home, he knows he's won this round, but the smallest verbal slip can immediately place him back within the line of fire. So he chooses silence, at least until the inevitable moment when his father asks about Abbie.

"So your friend..." Mr. Crane starts unassumingly enough. "She's rather pretty I must say."

"Is that an observation or an accusation?" Ichabod asks.

"Now now Ichabod, don't misinterpret anything, I'm not under the assumption that you have any plans with this girl."

"I don't, I've only just met her," Ichabod explains. not entirely sure if that's the reason his father would be looking for.

"Yet she allowed you to recuperate in her home, that was awfully nice of her," Mr. Crane continues.

"She _is_ nice," Ichabod replies. "And yes, quite... pretty as you mentioned."

"Oh dear," Mr. Crane sighs "I knew it, I saw it all over your face back at the cabin, you _do_ fancy that girl."

"Dad please stop leading me, you know I hate that," Ichabod groans. He truly does, his tone is always so hard to read that he can never really tell when his father is setting a trap until it's too late.

"Yet you fall for it every time," Mr. Crane shoots back. "Ichabod why must you always choose the surest route to ostracism?"

"Here we go, you're always encouraging me to make friends and as soon as I find one you take issue with her," Ichabod protests. "Need I remind you it was you who insisted upon raising me in the 18th century for the benefit of your research?"

"And if I had been able to foresee the circumstances that brought us here then perhaps I would have taken a different approach, but there is nothing at all I can do about the past Ichabod, all we have is now, and you choose now to befriend the daughter of the town's most notorious pariah?"

"She was nice to me dad," Ichabod explains. "Why should I change who I am to suit the fancy of people who won't even give me the time of day when there is a perfectly nice girl who is willing to be my friend no questions asked?"

"A boy your age shouldn't be content with one companion, and I assure you that's all you'll have if you continue to consort with such a girl," Mr. Crane insists.

His father is wrong, he got along just fine without a friend in the world, with only his books and his ideals for company, then came Abbie, the first girl since Katrina to show him any kindness upon entering the halls of Sleepy Hollow high, and the first one in general to continue that kindness in spite of learning all about his reputation. If one friend was all that he was destined to have then it was truly a miracle that that one friend happened to be as kind and smart and as his father so accurately noticed, pretty as Abigail Mills.

"Having a friend is nothing to write off," Mr. Crane continues. "But eventually you'll want more, you'll want to spend time with other young men, perhaps a girlfriend down the line."

"Why couldn't Abigail be my girlfriend? Not five minutes ago you accused me of fancying her." He doesn't, not really, he fancies Katrina, it's always been Katrina since day one, but this conversation has to end.

"And you claimed not to," Mr. Crane shoots back.

"But I could, I mean, maybe, down the line."

"Come on, be serious Ichabod, she's a lovely girl but certainly not for you."

"Surely you're not implying what I think you are?" Ichabod says, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course not," Crane says. "If I had my way such a thing would raise nary an eyebrow, but it does Ichabod, I'm not certain even you could handle that amount of stigma."

"Well you needn't worry," Ichabod says, swallowing any further protests. "My feelings for Katrina haven't changed."

"And do you honestly believe you'll ever have a chance with her if you proceed to spend all of your time with this girl, or any girl for that matter, even platonically?"

"Katrina would never judge my friendship with Abbie, she's much too kind a soul," Ichabod says. "She's simply too afraid to go against Abe or Moloch, they practically run the school dad."

"And what exactly do you plan to do about these two that so adamantly hold your lady fair captive?"

"Believe me, I have a plan," Ichabod says ponderously, granted he's had many plans over the last two years for wooing Katrina, but none have been solid enough to put into action, not until he met Abigail Mills that is.

* * *

Somehow he's not surprised to see her there, sitting on the front steps of the high school the next morning, easily 200 more pages into the book from yesterday. She looks nice today, he thinks to himself, her slightly poufy hair pulled back with a red headband, her lips shiny with gloss, her Thriller T-Shirt hugging what he now notices is a somewhat larger than average bosom for her age, and he can't help but blush a little as he wordlessly takes a seat next to her. She smiles that brilliant smile of hers as he sits, making him follow suit in spite of the tender bruises still marring his face.

"Where is your sister?" He asks first.

"She's around, probably off making out with Frankie somewhere," Abbie says, closing her book. "How are you?"

"Quite well thanks to you," He says warmly.

"Good, just try not to get beat up again today," she says jokingly, making him chuckle.

"Abigail, this is going to sound quite strange, I mean I barely know you," he starts, making her furrow her brow a little. "But I saw something in you yesterday, in your face, in your whole disposition I saw it."

"Oh yeah, what was that?" she says with a smirk.

"Longing," he says simply. "For acceptance, for friendship, to not be the girl that generates whispers upon the crowd."

She's going to deny it, he knows she is, but the way she looks away a bit nervously he knows he isn't wrong.

"I don't care about any of that stuff Crane," she insists, just as he predicted.

"It's okay Abigail, it doesn't make you a bad person, in fact what makes you so remarkable is the fact that you stood up for me in spite of it all, it's a rare person indeed who would do such a thing."

"Relax Crane, just because I don't think you deserve to get your face rearranged by some racist jerk doesn't mean I'm some king of folk hero."

"You were my hero yesterday, I know that much," He says, and she can't help but smile at the sentiment.

"Well, thank you, your overblown praise is appreciated."

"And that being said, I know I am in no way entitled to ask for more of your help, but I feel having a female friend comes with certain advantages that I can not help but consider."

"Such as," Abbie says a bit guardedly.

"Such as I can not get close to Katrina, for reasons even I have trouble grasping most of the time, but you, you can."

He's not sure why her face seems to fall a little at the suggestion, but he thinks she understands without him needing to say more.

"You want me to sit at the cheerleaders table today, without you, is that what you're saying?"

"Don't even mention my name, I shall come into play in due course, but until then all I ask is that you befriend her."

"Crane I don't need Katrina's charity," Abbie says, annoyed.

"No, you don't but I need yours," Ichabod insists. "Abigail I know I'm asking a lot but if you've ever been in love than surely you know that it's absolute torture, some nights I can hardly sleep, thoughts of her invade my mind like a plague and there's no stopping it."

"She has a boyfriend Crane," Abbie insists.

"Who she does not love, who she could never love," he responds.

"You don't know that, you don't even know her," Abbie insists. "I may not know a lot about the real world but I do know that love at first sight doesn't exist."

"Abigail," he says, exhaling a little in frustration. "Surely there is something that I can do in exchange for your help."

"You have nothing I want," She says coolly.

She's right, he thinks to himself, there is nothing at all he has to offer her. He's known Abbie only a day but after an entire afternoon of talking over apple pie a la mode with The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust playing in the background, he knows that she's far too impressive a girl to need any help from him. The only things holding her back were the circumstances of her birth, and there was nothing he could do to change that, unless.

"You want to attend college in the city, you told me yesterday," He says, coming up with an idea.

"I don't need tutoring," She says confidently.

"How about a letter of recommendation and personal campus tour from a history professor at NYU, also known as my father?"

Now he's got her attention.

"You could do that?" she says skeptically.

"Well of course he wouldn't just write it for anyone, but you're clever, and charming and my friend, and we have two years, I'm sure I can generate at least a casual acquaintanceship between the two of you, especially if it would help me get Katrina."

"Because of course he's just dying for his only son to date the head cheerleader."

"That is his reasoning, not mine."

"I don't know whether to be intrigued or insulted," she says, her voice low.

"Forgive me Abigail," he says shamefully. "It is desperation alone that compels me to ask this of you, and know that whether you choose to help me or not, I will continue to value your company above all others."

"Well in that case," Abbie starts after a pause. "I'm sorry, I can't help you."

He swallows hard at her answer and nods sharply. "Well I suppose that's that then. We shall never speak of it again, shall we proceed to home room?" he continues, extending his arm for her to take. and he's more then a little taken aback when she firmly hits him on top of the head with the book.

"What on earth was that!" He exclaims.

"That was a test," she says. "Well, not the book, that was just fun, me saying I wouldn't help you. And you passed, good for you."

"So you will help me?"

"Well, you may be beyond help," she jokes. "But I'll try."

"Abigail Mills," he says happily. "You are nothing short of a goddess among mortals."

"Yeah yeah, shut it Shakespeare, lets go to class."

And at that they stand to ascend the front steps of Sleepy Hollow High together.

* * *

She shifts her feet a little as she prepares to join Katrina, unable to believe she agreed to do this, but what could she say, she was already a sucker for Ichabod's sad face. She enters the lunch room, her friends in tow, and before approaching her she takes a deep breath and forces a smile.

"Hey," Abbie says as confidently as possible. "Katrina right?"

"Yeah," she confirms. "And you're... Abbie, is that right?"

"Yeah. Good for you, you're not as bad with names as you thought," she teases.

"So, what can I do for you Abbie?" Katrina says with a warm smile.

"Well, I guess I wanted to take you up on your offer, you know, to sit with you and your friends."

Katrina's expression doesn't change much at the suggestion, but Abbie can tell her friends aren't so thrilled about the idea, it doesn't matter, she isn't here for them.

"Of course," Katrina says, gesturing toward the seat which Abbie takes.

"So, how are you settling in Abbie-

"You're not going to invite your weird little friend this time are you? One of the other girls says a bit cattily.

"It's fine Gretchen," Katrina says through clenched teeth. "Go on Abbie."

"Well, you know, it's an adjustment," Abbie says, she wants to defend Ichabod, but he told her not to, not until getting in with Katrina. "I mean I was homeschooled."

"What was that like?" Gretchen asks again. "Was your principal the mailman?"

Gretchen isn't very funny, Abbie thinks to herself, but she clearly thinks she's hilarious. She could point that out, but what good would it do?

"Actually my mom took care of all the education stuff," Abbie continues.

"I'm guessing that was before she torched a museum because Jesus or Buddha or Don Johnson told her to," Gretchen continues, and Abbie can't help but notice that everyone at the table, including Katrina and the other girls look massively uncomfortable. Gretchen simply looks pleased with herself, and she can't help but notice she looks something else too.

"Gretchen please-

"Wait a minute," Abbie says, interrupting Katrina, narrowing her eyes at the girl sitting across from her. "You're deacon Brewer's daughter aren't you?"

"Yeah, so?" Gretchen scoffs.

"My mom used to sell sweet potato pies to your congregation," Abbie says, "Your dad was one of her best customers."

"Yeah he liked pie, what's it to you?"

"Yeah, probably all the brown sugar," Abbie retorts, making Gretchen shift her eyes a bit. "I mean they were good pies but I hardly see why that would warrant Deacon Brewer coming around our house at all hours of the night, going into her room, not coming out for god knows how long, I mean I guess they could've been exchanging recipes or something-

"Your mother is a slut!" Gretchen says, cutting Abbie off, darting up from her table and slamming her lunch tray. "A crazy, bible thumping, pyro slut!"

And as Gretchen storms out the other girls find it hard to contain their laughter.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you did that," Katrina says with something resembling delight. "Thank you, I can't stand her."

"Really? I thought she was nice," Abbie says, shrugging.

"Is that really true about Gretchen's dad?" Katrina asks.

"Of course it's true, why do you think he bought her that Beemer?" Another girl with curly blonde hair says. "That thing has divorce written all over it."

"Didn't know why until know, who would have thought the home school girl would have such juicy gossip?" A girl with freckles and brown pigtails adds.

"Well people who have to spend every waking minute in church usually have something to apologize for," Abbie says.

"I know my pastor cheats on his wife," Katrina says, poor woman, she always remembers my birthday.

Sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass anyone," Abbie says. "Sometimes I have a little trouble reining in my mouth, homeschool kids aren't exactly known for her social skills."

"Hey, you got Gretchen Brewer to shut up, nobody can do that, you're okay in my book," Katrina assures her.

She's thinking this befriending Katrina thing might be easier than she thought.

**And if you haven't guessed the second reason I decided to set this in the 80's, here's a hint, it's (quite loosely) based on a popular movie from that particular decade. Have fun guessing which one. Stay Tuned Folks!**


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